Quantifying Truth
by Whitewave42
Summary: This one-shot fits in after the end of episode 6x09, Love Taps. Spoilers for that episode.


Maura opened her door and slipped through, her movements calm and deliberate. She shrugged off her coat, put her shoes carefully next to the door and placed her purse on the kitchen counter. She moved to the fridge, briefly considering having a glass of wine but deciding on a bottle of water instead.

The lecture had finished quite late, so it was time for her to go to bed. Instead, she crossed to the couch and settled into the corner, not bothering to switch on any lights. She sat in the dark and quiet, sipping slowly at the water.

The bottle crinkled intrusively as her hand tightened unconsciously. She glanced at the half empty container, feeling how fragile the plastic was in her grip. It would be easy to allow her hand to keep crushing it, twisting the shape beyond recognition, destroying its ability to perform its basic function of containing the water. The liquid would simply spill everywhere, unheeded, unrestrained. And then she would have to either clean it up or let it be.

She put the bottle down, folding her hands into her lap.

Her thoughts roamed freely, as if the idea of the water escaping the confines of the bottle had released her inhibitions. She couldn't help thinking back over the night, feeling her insides start to churn once more.

She had walked out of the Dirty Robber filled with optimism, buoyed by the time spent enjoying meeting a new friend while surrounded by the old ones. She had laughed at Jane's ridiculous jacket one more time, glancing wistfully at the happy group before leaving to attempt to repair an even older relationship.

She had listened to the prompting of her loved ones and offered her father an olive branch. After all this time, she had confessed the true reason for their estrangement, and she had avoided the repercussions ever since. Her brief encounter with her father had been unsettling and unrewarding, leaving her feeling more guilty and resentful than ever. So, she had decided to try to put everything aside, to participate in an activity that she used to enjoy with her father.

It had gone wonderfully well. They had argued light-heartedly about the lecture, debating the strengths of the melodic languages discussed and finally agreeing to disagree, but still enjoying the presentation. Arthur had introduced her to some of his colleagues, and she started to feel a little of the closeness return to their relationship.

But then the evening was over, and Arthur had turned to bid her farewell. He had raised his arms, as if to move in for a hug, then dropped them, his face crumpling in hesitation, guilt and anguish. The look had only lasted a moment, quickly morphing into a congenial smile, but Maura had seen it. She knew that despite the attempt she had made to reconcile their differences and put it behind them, he would always be overcome with guilt over his actions and her reactions. He would never look at her and see his daughter, he would always see someone that used to love him, but who had been so hurt that he could never make up for it. She knew that she would only see remorse and pity in his eyes from now on, not love. Through no fault of her own, Maura knew that she had lost him as a father, and now that the truth was out there was no going back.

Instead of talking about it, she had simply bid him farewell and walked away. The flash of fury she had felt after seeing that look had surprised her with its intensity, and she hadn't wanted to speak for fear of saying something she'd regret. Her body had felt leaden as she found her car and drove home, the swirling emotions causing her foot to press the accelerator harder, her hands to grip the wheel tighter, her eyes to stare at the surrounding motorists with irritation and disdain as she sped past them, impatient to reach the sanctuary of her quiet home, where she could retreat from the world and process life's inequities in solitude.

Maura looked down at her hands and realised she was clenching them painfully tight, as well as gnashing her teeth together stiffly. She closed her eyes, taking a moment to breathe and calm down. She had been angry like this only a few times in her life, so she remembered each time clearly. As long as she remembered to breathe, she would be okay, and nobody would be the wiser.

After several long moments, she opened her eyes. She had managed to relax her muscles enough to take another sip of water. The cool drops helped calm her further, giving her something to focus on for a moment, taking her out of her head and back to the living room.

Leaning back in an attempt to sit comfortably, her eyes picked a random spot on the wall and stayed fixed there. To an outside observer, she would look calm, her face blank and serene, but inside she was still roiling with tempestuous emotions.

She couldn't help but wish she hadn't said anything to Arthur. If she'd only kept the reasons behind her anger to herself, she would still be at the Robber with her friends, not sitting alone on her couch trying to curtail the urge to either drink herself to incoherence or break something, possibly both. She had never done either when angry, as her logical mind always laid out the consequences of rash action before she got too far into the impulse, however it had always looked satisfying on TV or in a movie. Would a violently thrown glass ease her discomfort by ten percent? One percent? Or would it simply create extra anxiety over the shattered item and the clean up?

Her mind drifted to the consequences of her confession as they stood now. Before her disclosure, she was the only one being hurt by her secret. Arthur knew that there was an unbridgeable distance between them, and he knew that it was because of his affair, but he had never understood the deep impact it had had on her psyche. He thought he had done the best he could for her, by never speaking about it, by sending her to boarding school, by giving her space.

Now, he knew that everything he'd tried to do had made the situation worse. He knew that keeping his secret had changed who Maura was, turning her into a social recluse that had difficulty connecting and trusting. It had even given her an inability to lie, which had made her even more of a social misfit.

He also now knew that her mother had never known her part in the deception, and that the secret had created a hidden rift between Maura and Constance as well. Keeping that knowledge from her mother had made Maura withdraw from any real closeness, as she had felt her nondisclosure had made her an accomplice, a willing participant in the vilest lie that could become part of a marriage. Even when her mother found out about the affair, Maura had remained silent, afraid that her actions could be the last straw on a teetering, unstable relationship. She had sacrificed her own happiness for the sake of her parent's marriage, and it had scarred her deeply.

Now that the secret was out, Maura assumed Arthur would feel obligated to tell Constance the truth. She had no idea how her mother would react, whether she would feel betrayed by Maura, or remorseful about her pain, or disgusted by the lie that had gone on for more than two decades. All the progress that had been made over the last few years could be destroyed, leaving them further apart than ever before. Maura could end up estranged from both her parents. Again.

So instead of remaining silent and only harming herself, she had spoken up and possibly hurt two people that, despite everything, she still loved dearly.

And yet again, the choice was out of her hands. Her fate would be decided by the whims of those who she allowed into her heart. She had been a child when she had first made the choice to keep the secret, but there had never been a time on entering adulthood when a discussion would have been appropriate. There is no calculation to determine the appropriate time for a life-altering revelation, there is only a multitude of wrong times followed by the time when there is no option.

But she had the option of remaining silent while Arthur was in Boston, and decided to act. She could have walked away, and kept her secret, her truth. She had allowed her own wish for resolution to override her caution, and let the words loose into the world. Now instead of the familiar pain she had carried her whole life, there was the unknown.

The sad part was that she couldn't even be sure if any of this had been necessary. If she hadn't kept the secret as a child, if she had only told her mother what she'd seen straight away, everything might have been different. Constance might have still forgiven Arthur for his indiscretion, and Maura wouldn't have had to bear the weight of this whole mess for the majority of her life. She wouldn't have fled to boarding school, she wouldn't have pulled away from her parents, and she might be a better, happier person now.

Maura brushed away a regretful tear. This was why she didn't like what-if scenarios. They could never be proven, and in this case they would only cause her more anguish.

Maura sighed, glancing at the time and realising she'd been sitting on the couch fuming for more than an hour. She knew there was no resolution to find within herself over this, so she might as well go to bed and attempt to sleep.

As she readied herself for bed, she realised that Jane would want to know how the lecture went, and whether she had reconciled with Arthur. She would stand there looking hopeful, her hands fidgeting as she waited for the answer, her face fearful of the consequences if the night had ended badly. She would probably have some sort of amusing distraction ready, like the return of the dreadful fringe jacket, or perhaps a hat to go with it if she was truly desperate.

Maura flopped into bed, her eyes staring balefully at the ceiling. She didn't want to have to tell Jane that she was still angry with her father. She wanted to say that their relationship was all better, and the drama had all resolved into a happy ending. She didn't want to disappoint her friend, and inflict the pain of the truth on yet another innocent victim. Not to mention the guilt Angela would feel if she found out, since she had also prodded her to try and reconnect with her father. Two more people she loved who would be hurt, simply because she had needed to tell the truth.

Sleep did not find her easily, with thoughts still tumbling around her mind painfully until well into the early hours of the morning. When her alarm blared, Maura had only managed a few pitiful hours of rest, but she dragged herself out of bed regardless.

After dragging herself through her morning routine, including a rigorous application of makeup to cover the signs of sleep deprivation, Maura made her way to the kitchen, injecting as much life into her steps as possible. If she was able, she would put on her best face, convince everyone that she was fine, and then continue with her life as if nothing had happened.

As usual, Jane was in her kitchen, bickering with Angela. Maura smiled at the sight, the warm atmosphere in her house dissipating some of the gloom hanging over her, bringing her mood infinitesimally closer to the cheery persona she was trying to project.

The two Rizzolis smiled at her appearance, continuing their conversation uninterrupted. Angela held out a cup of coffee to her, which she took gratefully and sipped as she listened unobtrusively.

After a few more sentences, Angela excused herself and left Maura alone with Jane. She turned to the fridge quickly, not wanting to give Jane too long a look at her face.

After a few moments, Jane tapped a finger on the bench before gently speaking. "So, how was last night?"

Maura took a deep breath before turning to face Jane, a carefully constructed smile on her face. "It was a fascinating lecture. I talked to Arthur, and everything's fine."

Jane scrutinised her face for a few moments, before smiling sadly, the emotion not reaching her eyes. Her voice didn't convey the enthusiasm Maura had hoped for as she replied. "That's great Maura."

Jane turned away to fiddle with something at the end of the bench. Maura turned back to the fridge, surreptitiously checking her arms for hives. There were none.

Apparently she had learned to lie after all.

The truth had set her free.

And she hated it.


End file.
